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CHAPTER FIVE

A lbion lingered at the Wayfarer’s Respite, attempting to outline the rescue of Comtesse de Flarine’s eldest son, scribbling down ideas in his leather-bound notebook as they came to him.

No sooner had he committed one of them to paper than he saw some flaw, which caused him to obliterate the plan and devise a new stratagem.

All the time feeling like a blasted fool.

He had spoken imprudently, illogically. In the name of all that moved heaven and earth, what had he been thinking?

Albion should thank all the ancient gods of fortune that Diana had her head set straight on her lovely neck.

That’s what Dunc would make of it, anyway.

Though a decade had passed since they were schoolmates, Albion lived in the shadow of his brother, who excelled in all matters vital to life in the Hidden Realm, from diligent study to athletics.

Was it any wonder Duncan’s voice was forever in his head?

He’d no call to ask anyone to marry him.

Not so long as he had to keep a part of himself hidden.

The part of Albion that had spent nearly half a year directing funds from his trust to plot out secret trips.

Since the Comtesse and her family had arrived safely in England, he could count fifteen souls saved.

But he could not share this with anyone, not even a wife, particularly since Rostin had now placed a bounty on his head and Jacques still needed to be rescued. The Benevolent Phantom had pledged to get all of the family out of danger. He would not go back on his word.

Still, surely, this proposal hadn’t been thoroughly irrational, had it?

Albion couldn’t abide bullying, not the dangerous militaristic coercion of Rostin nor the subtler but potentially life-ruining torment of English Society.

If marriage shielded Diana from the venomous scandal sheets and the malicious whispers of the ton , was he not duty-bound to propose?

After all, a man couldn’t live honorably without purpose.

Had he not had that very idea drummed into his skull his entire life?

Perhaps his mother’s pleas made sense after all. Marrying an Englishwoman could offer protection should his activities as the Phantom of Chamberly ever come to light. Diana was the daughter of Tobias Stewart, Lord Mercer, after all.

Or perhaps his brain conjured this line of thinking to coddle his wounded pride. Diana had refused him—flatly and firmly. How foolish he had been to believe someone like Diana Stewart would spare a thought for him, let alone agree to marry.

A part of him resented his alter ego, the Benevolent Phantom, for meriting her admiration when he, Albion Higgins, could not.

The charade had never presented a problem before.

He never cared because he had no one to impress.

Now, he detested the thought of playing the fool in the presence of Diana Stewart.

Albion had played the jester in Society for so long, she must view him with nothing more than vague pity. The mere idea was excruciating.

Then again, had he truly put his best foot forward, as it were? What had she said before the entire conversation took such a sharp turn? I remain assured that romance precedes marriage. I will not rid you or anyone else of the opportunity to find true love.

He hadn’t presented the partnership as a romance.

Feasibly, he could add another layer to the version of Albion Higgins he performed for Society’s benefit.

A fellow helpless in the face of love, smitten with a lady who would not have him.

This Albion would still keep nary a thought in his head, save for those relating to the object of his affection.

A hopeless romantic so besotted with Lady Diana that he would never have the time or inclination to take on the work of the Phantom.

But romance? That Albion Higgins could tackle.

At long last, Ollie closed the tavern for the evening. With the fire in the hearth extinguished, the place grewcolder by the minute.

Albion withdrew a brass key from the inner pocket of his waistband.

He grasped the key tightly as he approached a door toward the back of the tavern adjacent to the dark kitchen.

Ollie kept it locked unless Albion needed to use it.

He paid handsomely for this privilege, and Ollie never asked for an explanation.

After unlocking the creaking door, Albion entered a small chamber, ducking under the low transom. The wooden floor had splintered, and the room smelled vaguely of stale ale blended with the mildew that clung to the rafters. Mice scrabbled within the walls.

The space would have made for a tight fit for more than a half-dozen men. It was an ideal place to meet in secret, seeing as no one with any taste for comfort would care to loiter. Albion could hardly see his compatriots in the public spaces of Albany or his club.

A candle had already been lit, casting shadows on the walls. The Langley brothers stood waiting for him.

“So you received my instructions in all due order.”

At the sound of his voice, the two men stood taller.

They were not twins but roughly the same height and similar in appearance, if not disposition.

William Langley, his knotted cravat as tousled as his wavy brown hair, and Edward, whose hair was more sandy-blonde than brown, had matched the claret color of his waistcoat to his elder brother’s.

Albion had heard his small group referred to as an “alliance,” which made his schemes seem grander than they truly were.

Not that he objected. The “Trio” of the Benevolent Phantom hadn’t the same ring of mystery, calling to mind a string ensemble hired for supper parties more than a band of brave gentlemen.

“Lord Albion,” Edward said. “Oliver was kind enough to let us in.”

“It’s not how we usually go about things,” William added, almost apologetically, as though his younger brother had been too eager to speak.

Dunc’s voice frequently assumed a similar tone.

“It seemed expedient. When we arrived, you were conversing with Lady Diana, so we came round the back and asked Ollie to let us in. Not that we have any reason to think we can’t trust her. ”

“A sensible solution.” Albion lowered his voice when he spoke to the Langleys, no longer concerned with imitating London’s beau monde .

He felt his shoulders relax. What a relief to let go of the act, even for the space of this brief meeting.

“I shan’t take much of your time, but as astonishing as the escape of Comtesse de Flarine and her family was, we have not yet rescued every member. ”

“Jacques chose to stay,” Edward pointed out. “My brother did everything in his power to convince him to leave. Didn’t you, Willy?”

“Forgive me, Lord Albion.” William bowed his head. “It broke his mother’s heart. I failed.”

“Nonsense. You safely escorted the Comtesse and two of her children out of Chamberly’s gates.”

“Yes, but the eldest boy remained steadfast in his decision. He told us it was what his father would have wanted. Despite the danger, he feels responsible for carrying on that work.”

“Alas, Jacques is but fourteen and disposed to claim the privileges of adulthood with none of the wisdom. I’ve no doubt you did everything in your power to convince him to leave.”

“He thinks he can best help Chamberly from within its gates.”

“A noble goal, indeed. Yet we must persuade the boy otherwise. Jacques will be useless to his cause should mercenaries apprehend him.”

Albion moved toward a walnut secretary desk he had saved from being cast out when Ollie purged the inn’s back rooms. Though intended for a human, not an orc considered tall even in his homeland, its dimensions suited him well enough.

With a tug on the latch, the front drawer groaned open, revealing a writing panel and fitted slots for his cut quill pens and parchment.

“We must hurry. And no one should see us leaving this place together.”

“Because of the reward?” Edward shifted his gaze around the room as though an agent sent by the Duke of Rostin would pop out from under a loose floorboard.

“We will take even greater care but must also take quick action.”

“Would that we move faster than the Duke,” William said. “I understand he has sent agents to Calais to apprehend the Benevolent Phantom. And this is in addition to those willing to betray us for seven thousand pounds.”

“It is a dastardly amount.” Nerves frayed, Albion considered all the issues the Langleys faced, even without the added danger of a bounty on their heads.

The fierce and random nature of the winds and tempests along the Channel.

The severity of the coastal custom-house officers, though they were more likely to apprehend goods than people.

And the poor quarters in which they hid, partially exposed to the elements.

“You have both faced danger with no shortage of courage,” Albion said. “If you choose to take leave of our mission, you would do with honor for all of your previous work.”

The brothers looked at one another and hesitated before nodding. “As ever, Lord Albion, we are at your service,” William told him. “We await your instructions.”

Albion reached into the front door of the secretary to withdraw the small rosewood box containing his waxing seal.

The sigil of a lone wolf in profile dated back centuries, before anyone had ever conceived of renaming the Hooradech mak Teer family “Higgins” for the benefit of the English.

An expert jeweler had engraved the lupine emblem on the signet ring Albion proudly displayed in public, the ring’s fiery Orcan sapphires glinting in the candlelight of a supper party or ball so that one never questioned the extent of his family’s wealth.